


Last Retirement

by dizmo



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, M/M, Rare Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-27
Updated: 2005-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-02 17:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizmo/pseuds/dizmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Humanity wipes out disease. Angst ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Retirement

DEATH had been doing his job for a long time. A very long time. And he was very good at his job. Never had he received an assignment that caused him to hesitate for even the smallest fraction of a second. Or, at least, never before.

He stared at his list for almost a full thirty seconds before slowly picking up his scythe and going where he was needed. And for the first time in all of Creation, he was fervently wishing he didn't have to.

Pestilence was curled up in the corner of a sofa in the small London flat he had been residing in for some time. He looked, in a word, horrible. At once, he looked perfectly healthy, and perfectly ill. Humanity had been far too vigilant in their attempts to fight him, and although he had battled as much as he could for as long as he could, they had had the upper hand for a while now, and, as his various diseases had fewer and fewer places they could reside, they had finally turned on him. And humanity was about to strike the final blow.

Pesti looked up weakly at DEATH's arrival and smiled. "Hello."

PEST. I'M...

Closing his eyes, Pestilence replied. "They finally did it, didn't they?" A shudder wracked his body. "Business, not pleasure, this time?"

DEATH nodded wordlessly.

"I'm sorry," Pestilence weakly managed. "I should have been stronger... fought more.. for you."

IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT, PEST. YOU DID WHAT YOU COULD.

"Not enough."

DEATH paused for a moment. NO. NOT ENOUGH.

At Pesti's slow nod, DEATH, for the first time ever, felt a pang of guilt for what he needed to do.

I'M SORRY.

"So am I." Pestilence managed a faint smile. "See you again, perhaps, on some other world.. some other bit of Creation."

PERHAPS.

"I love you."

I.. LOVE YOU TOO, PEST. At that, DEATH swung his scythe. And it was done.

Marveling at the feel of emptiness within his chest, and realizing that that must be what sadness felt like, he turned away. Eternity was his. And it would be spent in both work and mourning.


End file.
